“Why?”
Vivian stirred honey into her brew and ignored Bryn’s question until she heard the crunch of obedience.
“It will give the acid in your stomach something to do other than dance in a mosh pit. It’ll hydrate your mouth to reduce that noise too,” she explained, handing over the mug once Bryn had finished the apple.
Bryn reached for the mug, their fingers brushing. When Bryn looked up and muttered her thanks, Vivian got caught in the crystalline hue of her eyes. But it wasn’t the color that ensnared her. It was the brightness. Her entire aura glowed with a light that disappointment hadn’t yet tainted. The lack of cynicism was almost jarring.
It was the look of someone who’d never been chewed up and spit out by the industry. Someone who hadn’t seen the ugliness that lurked just beneath the polished surface of every deal, every smile, every compliment.
For a fleeting, unwelcome moment, Vivian felt a pang of something that bordered on pity. This woman, with her earnestness and her squeaky shoes, had no idea what she was in for. She was a lamb trotting happily toward a world full of butchers.
Vivian smothered the feeling before it took root. Bryn’s preparedness, or lack thereof, for this business was not her responsibility. She turned back toward the booth without looking at her again.
“Drink the tea,” she ordered, tone clipped to remind them both that their relationship did not extend beyond recording a book together. “And let’s get to work.”
ChapterFive
In a miraculous turn of events,they recorded fifteen whole pages of a three hundred and fifty-page manuscript before the ancient god of constant irritation appeared to punch Vivian right in the throat. She smashed the trackpad on her laptop to stop the recording. To stop Bryn mid line delivery.
“What are you doing?” Vivian asked without screaming, a valiant effort when her pulse was pumping in her retinas like a subwoofer was blaring bass right behind her eyeballs.
Bryn had the audacity to look confused. “Recording?”
Vivian clenched her teeth to keep her immediate response locked between her molars. “Why have you given Duck a Texan accent?”
Bryn shifted her weight between her feet. “Well, he’s got that old country biker vibe, and I thought he’d kinda sound like?—”
“Thought?” Vivian cocked her head to the side. “You don’t have to think. We get his backstory in the second half. He’s a native Floridian. He does not sound like Yosemite Sam.”
The colors on Bryn’s face were a kaleidoscope of embarrassment. Pink washed into red before an alarming maroon darkened her forehead. “I only prepare one act at a time.”
“What?” Vivian pulled off her headphones. She took the best cleansing breath she could manage. “You haven’t prepped the entire manuscript?”
“Well, I figured the best way to stay in the moment…to convey authentically what Maggie feels as she feels it—” She tried to laugh, but it was more of a snared gurgle. “I didn’t want my performance to be influenced by things I know, but Maggie doesn’t… You know?”
“And what voice acting coach gave you that terrible bit of advice?”
Bryn’s skin flushed so hard it hit a new and indescribable hue. “I’ve never had coaching.”
Vivian blinked. She remembered a trip to Sedona a lifetime ago when she believed in karma and crystals and celestial balance. Remembered lying naked on a towel in a wooden shed while sweating under crushing steam while a woman played a homemade harp. An eight-hour steam bath in the middle of nowhere hadn’t brought her mental clarity, but it had taught her to endure the most uncomfortable environments.
Right then, she’d rather be back in the wilderness eating nothing but fucking berries she foraged than staring at an unprepared amateur. She took another breath and looked at the time on her laptop screen.Close enough. Vivian grabbed her phone and texted Iris to let her know they were breaking early for lunch.
Vivian stepped out of the booth and into the fresh air. She went to the fridge and took out a glass bottle of water. Moments later, Bryn popped her head out the open door.
“Are we taking a break?”
Leaning against the counter, Vivian thought of a hundred different responses. None of them polite. She focused on the relief of cold rehydration and waited for Bryn to answer her own question.
It only took a moment for Bryn to take off her headphones and join her. She unscrewed the top of her enormous water bottle covered in stickers and gulped. Vivian stared at her until Iris knocked on the door before opening it.
“Lunch is served,” Iris announced.
“Oh, do I get to see the inside of your house?” Bryn asked with an exuberance Vivian wasn’t sure she’d ever felt once in her forty-eight years.
“No,” she replied before sitting at the head of the long table under the covered patio, fans on at max speed. A valiant but weak defense against the August afternoon.
Bryn sat to Vivian’s right, facing the pool. “What are you hiding in there?” She picked up her fork and speared a poached pear slice off the spinach salad. “Are you harboring a fugitive from justice?” She chewed. “Oh, do you have a wild animal?” She leaned back, arms crossed and eyes on Vivian. “I can see you with one of those exotic cats. Maybe not a white tiger. Too obvious.” Bryn gave it so much thought, the summer afternoon leeched Vivian’s irritation. “An ocelot. You own an ocelot and you don’t want me to see it.”
